


I sure hope you're a thirsty trick cause this ain't a lot of water

by trashtrove (editoress)



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: F/M, Holoform(s), Shattered Glass, more insert fun, sg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 08:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6697861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editoress/pseuds/trashtrove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The leader of the Decepticons has never been one for holoforms. But they're so useful for exploring his endless scars.</p><p>Gettin' it on with Megatron, SG verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I sure hope you're a thirsty trick cause this ain't a lot of water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bossladyharley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossladyharley/gifts).



> For Melody, who calls this her "bedtime story" and insisted I post it with the original title intact instead of naming it "Scars" like a normal person.

Melody learned as fast as she could.

She learned that Knockout would say anything if you kept him talking long enough.  She learned how to interpret Seeker body language.  She learned that she could get into Soundwave's good graces via Laserbeak.

And eventually, she learned that the thin lines crisscrossing over Megatron's body were scars.

They glinted like the edges of blades whenever the light hit them, silvery slashes running down his back and across his arms.  They made a pale, sharp pattern of battle stories she hadn't heard.  No other Decepticon she had ever seen had scars, at least not for long.  And if anyone knew why, it would be the ship's head medic.

"Those?  Those are teracycles old," Knockout assured her.  "Substandard medical care, I can only assume.  If I had been there for his arena career, I could have healed them in a jiffy."  He hummed at an energon sample.  "Why, I could heal them now.  It's no difficult task to fix up a finish."  He shot Melody a smirk of pure vanity.  "Though of course _maintaining_ it takes dedication.  But our fearless leader won't have it."  He shrugged lightly and turned back to his task.  "I suppose I should just be grateful he's a willing patient otherwise."

Melody thought she had gotten away with it until Knockout sent her a wide, gleaming smile over his shoulder, a smile that told her he had noticed that this hadn't been her first inquiry about Lord Megatron.  Melody left before he could comment.

In truth, she had been paying more attention to Megatron than she'd intended to, but she would have to be blind _and_ deaf not to take notice of him.  She had been warned that he could be intimidating, difficult to approach.  He _was_ angry, but he was also tolerant and startlingly respectful.

And when he was not angry, or was not dealing with a subordinate or problem or heap of political questions from the semi-resident human, Megatron was very, very tired.  She watched him walk, step by heavy step, down the corridor.  His posture was never diminished and he never swayed, but his movements were slow and his eyes dimmed in a deep weariness that couldn't be good for a military commander.

He had always been patient with her, but Melody still felt an edge of apprehension when she suggested to him, "You should take some _you_ time."  The sound of her words clashed around the space, the undercurrent of worry scraping against her casual tone, both out of place with the alien dignity of the warlord in front of her.

"Soundwave has said the same thing," he rumbled.  Even the soft corridor lights shone dully off his scars.

"Soundwave's smart," Melody pointed out matter-of-factly.

If the silent look he gave her in reply wasn't a smile, it still made her feel better.

"What do you do for fun?" she pressed, teasing.

He barked out a short laugh.  "Human humor is so refreshing," he said dryly.

With every intention of innocence, she vowed, "If you ever hop on this holoform train, I'll teach you how humans unwind."

Not all of the crew of the _Nemesis_ had gotten the hang of holoforms.  Melody found that the more likely anyone was to take an Earth-based alt mode, the more likely they were to parade around in a generated human form.  Thus, Knockout, Breakdown, and Starscream had been the first to experiment.  Of those three, Knockout had taken the longest to perfect his image.  Everyone who wanted a holoform had come to Melody to pepper her with questions about how best to translate their ( _obviously_ more attractive) Cybertronian appearance to a human one.  What was the height range?  What did certain features signify?  Why did humans have such a limited color scheme?  It was an arduous process that in the end turned out to be half intuitive.

For instance, though Megatron had never used a holoform, she knew instantly that this was him.

Even if she had seen this man on the street instead of on the _Nemesis_ , if he had not spoken at all, she would have known that it was Megatron.  He was a goliath of a man, with the broad shoulders and thickness of limb that his robot frame had promised.  She couldn't help thinking that with the squared chin and heavy brow, he would have made a hell of a 50s lead actor.  He looked worn—no, grizzled, with a nose that looked like it had been broken several times and streaks of gray hair shooting out from his temples.  He seemed to have started out in a suit, but his jacket was gone, leaving only slacks and a white button-down shirt.  And he'd been so kind as to roll up the sleeves.

This last she thought rather distantly, as the rest of her mind was busy trying to kick her into some kind of action.  It was rude to stare at a lord, even if he showed up in one's quarters unannounced.

Melody's quarters were little more than a broom closet to the Decepticons, but they were plenty roomy for her.  She had even decorated a little.  It was her space on the warship.  And now Megatron was here.

"It seems relaxing has taken precedence on my list of duties," he prompted, voice laced with impatience.

Melody had not given any concrete thought to how she would help Megatron relax.  There had been vague ideas, but she had always cut them short.  Now Megatron was waiting on the day of leisure that he doubtless expected her to have already planned.  Because her mouth was sometimes faster than the rest of her, she heard herself saying, "Well, there's always massages."

He gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head, unwilling to follow through and unwilling to take it back.  "I think," she continued slowly, "you need to think about yourself, even if it's just for a day.  Not about the war or the cause or the crew.  Believe me; doing what you want every once in a while is good for you."

His eyes were bright, too bright for him to be mistaken for someone who wasn't paying attention to every detail.  "You may not be wrong," he said.  Even in his holoform his voice filled the room.  "Yet I must wonder whether you are aware of what you are asking for."  Her alarmed expression must have provided an answer, because his voice stopped booming so much and he concluded, "Tell me how you 'unwind,' then."

Melody pulled a face just as he turned his back on her.  It didn't worry her, since she had seen him assume that stance—feet wide, hands folded behind his back—so many times while he listened to others.  "Mostly, I do nothing.  I write, I watch shows, I play games—unproductive things that I enjoy."  His shirt was awfully thin, and well-fitted.  There were a great many thoughts going on about that, but prominent among them was something unexpectedly innocent.  "Your holoform—you still have scars."

"Yes."  His elbows were making familiar, slight motions, in and out.  Melody recognized them and immediately hoped he wasn't—

No, she had been right.  Megatron had unbuttoned his shirt.

He couldn't _watch_ her watch him from this angle, so that was exactly what she did as he tugged his shirt off.  Shiny pink scar tissue made thread-thin lines all over his back.  Melody closed the last few steps of distance silently and cautiously.

Megatron did not move or speak, so she took it as a kind of invitation.  She reached out and lightly touched the length of a thick scar that ran from shoulder to waist.

"Gearklik," Megatron rumbled, startling her.  She yanked her hand back, but he didn't turn around.  "One of my first battles outside the arena.  He took offense to my success."

Melody licked her lips nervously and traced another, this one a short line between his shoulder blades.

His voice was distant thunder.  "Missile.  He threw me against an old forge."

For every smooth scar she touched, there was a name and a story.  He never had to look to know which one she was examining.  Melody found herself thinking that if she could name all her scars, she would keep them, too.  She brushed two fingers against a short, sharp slash across his lower back.  Megatron shifted.  He didn't shudder or twitch, but muscles moved under the skin and Melody jerked her hand back again.

"Smoketrail," he murmured as if nothing had happened.  She put her hand against his back again.  He made a noise too deep for even this size, and the hum traveled through her fingertips and up her arm to the center of her chest, and from there it went straight down.

Shaking slightly, she traced a scar that wrapped around his ribcage.  Her hand inched forward—and then stopped as he caught her wrist.  It wasn't until he turned around that she realized how much he towered over her.  The feeling was only made worse by the fact that he was leaning forward.  His grip didn't hurt, but she knew without trying that she wouldn't be able to pull away.

She started to make a comment about how he didn't look relaxed, but his gaze was predator-serious so instead she swallowed.

"You did advise that I should think of what I want," he growled, and the whole room vibrated with his voice.  He frowned and released her wrist.  "Yet that is not the only consideration—at least not among Cybertronians."

Melody wanted to assure him that things worked much the same way among humans, and that what _she_ wanted was for him to take hold of her wrist again and keep leaning closer.  But her throat was tight and working uselessly, so instead she put one hand flat against his stomach (scars there, too) and reached up for him.

Megatron got the message before she had finished moving and bent over her.  He leaned so far down to kiss her that her back arched, and the only thing holding her up was how tightly his arm had her pinned to him.  His other hand was already tangled in her hair.  He kissed with hunger, teeth occasionally running along her lower lip.  He kissed her like he only had this one chance and wasn't going to get enough.

It was hard to keep up.  After a few moments, there was nothing for Melody to do but _be_ kissed, to try to keep her heart from working its way out of her chest and keep herself together.

The whole effort failed when the noise started.  Megatron didn't moan.  He _growled_ , an angry, greedy sound that rippled through his entire body and right into Melody's.  Her knees buckled, her breathing hitched, and she gave in.

It was not what she would have called relaxing.  But she certainly learned a lot about Megatron, and each and every one of his scars.


End file.
